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We speak of stories ending, when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on.

We are all these things [...]. Pride, desire, compassion, cleverness, belligerence, fruitfulness, loyalty...and guilt. But above it all stands love. And if we desire to be more than human, that is the star by which we must set our sights.

Truly, it is in loss that we learn a thing's true value.

What is fear but courage's shadow?

It's the same questions we ask of our existence, and the answer is always the same. The mystery lies not in the question nor the answer, but in the asking and answering themselves, over and over again, and the end is engendered in the beginning.

We pay for sins we do not remember, and seek to do a will we can scarce fathom. That is what it is, to be a god's chosen.

I know what you are. I've always known from the beginning, Kushiel's Chosen. It is folly, to make claim on one whom the gods have marked for their own. And unlike the others, I am no fool, to grasp at that which burns to the touch. What you have given..." she raised one hand, palm upward, the garnet seal dangling at her wrist, "... I hold in an open hand.

As often as not, we forge our own chains. And from those, not even Adonai Himself can free us. We must do it ourselves.

But to force growth is to kill it.

Glielo spiegai; non a parole, ma nel linguaggio della carne, di labbra, lingua e mani, del respiro accelerato e del pulsare del sangue nelle vene, nell'umore salato del desiderio. È la stessa domanda che poniamo alla nostra esistenza, e anche la risposta è sempre la stessa. Il mistero non è nella domanda e neppure nella risposta, ma nel continuare a domandarsi e a rispondersi, perché la fine è generata dall'inizio.

Pride, desire, compassion, cleverness, belligerence, fruitfulness, loyalty… and guilt. But above it all stands love. And if we desire to be more than human, that is the star by which we must set our sights.

There are many things wealth cannot buy, and most of those are enumerated by philosophers who have never woken wondering if this day would be their last.

Beauty inspires love; so it is said, in Terre d’Ange. Was it done that we might find this world worthy of loving?

How strange it must be, I thought, to be wed not merely as husband and wife but Cruarch and Queen, trading men’s lives and the wealth of nations as love-tokens.

That kiss, I cannot describe. It was like a poem, a prayer, a homecoming unlooked-for. It was like dungeon walls crumbling to reveal a glimpse of sky. It

It is a scholar's weakness, to run narrow and deep.

There are ties that bind more complex than blood.